


there is nothing for me (but to love you)

by romans



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romans/pseuds/romans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky come in (or out) from the cold. Obligatory coming-out/winter-snuggles/Daily show fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is nothing for me (but to love you)

"Huh. Wow," Tony said. "I just- uh, I was not expecting that. I mean, it's _fine_ , just- surprising?"

Steve buried his face in his hands. 

"I'm not gonna tell anyone!" Tony added, raising his hands defensively. "I'm very good with secrets." 

"I heard about your Iron Man conference," Steve said. He peered at Tony through his fingers. 

"I mean, yeah. I'm good at other people's secrets," Tony said. "I won't tell anyone. But you know- if you want to go public Pepper's _really_ good at PR. It's why I hired her."

Steve heaved a sigh. 

*

February 22nd, 1936, was a cold day, not by much more than usual, but cold enough that Bucky gave Steve his coat when they went out on the town. Fifty cents got them into the movies, where Fred Astaire romanced Ginger Rogers, who flitted across the screen, catty and gorgeous in her silk trousers and short skirts and sheer dresses. If you liked that kind of thing, anyways. 

"I should join the Navy," Bucky said when they were walking home. Salt crunched under their shoes and frost was creeping over the grass in the cracks in the sidewalk. 

"Whaddya think, Steve? How would I look in a uniform?" 

Steve rolled his eyes. "You just want to impress girls," he said. 

"Nah. I never needed a uniform for that," Bucky said. He slung an arm over Steve's shoulders, familiar and carefree, and hustled him into their building. Their apartment was squalid and tiny, and the heat didn't work half the time, but it was theirs. The landlady never poked her nose into their business, and it caught the rising sun and gilded Steve's hair when he was waking up in the mornings. It was home. 

It wasn't too cold when they turned in for the night. Steve pulled another blanket out of the closet and threw it on their bed, and he burrowed a little closer than usual that night, all elbows and cold feet, but it wasn't anything to worry about. 

Then it started snowing. 

*

"Huh," Tony said again, fingering his beard. 

"Why was there a communicator in my bedroom?" Steve asked. 

"It's also a television," Tony said, defensively. "Most people keep their televisions in the living room nowadays, if you didn't know. Can I tell Pep? She's really discreet. That's also why I hired her." 

"Maybe later," Steve said. "Next time tell me before you give me anything with a camera on it?"

"And you won't break it and I won't have to see your O-face, that sounds fantastic," Tony said. "Which- no offense, but that was weird."

"Oh my _God_ ," Steve said. 

"Yeah," Tony said. "Let's drop this. How long have you and- you know what? Never mind. Dropping this. I'm gonna go to the lab." 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the headache that was building behind his eyes. 

Fantastic. This was fantastic. 

*

Bucky woke up in the small hours of the morning to find Steve curled in on himself, a small miserable ball of shaking muscles and cold skin. Sometime during the night the temperature had dropped. Bucky untangled Steve's fingers from his own and slipped out of bed, cursing when his feet hit the floor. 

He started a fire in the small fireplace in their room, coat thrown over his bare shoulders, and dragged the bed close to it. The whole building was a goddamned firetrap, but Steve needed to warm up. Steve burrowed under the blankets and coughed. Bucky laid his coat on top of the blankets, and threw Steve's on top, too, and then crawled back under the covers. 

The temperature dropped some more. 

Bucky stayed awake, watching light seep in through the gap in the curtains. Steve dozed, alternating between terrifying asthmatic fits and exhausted sleep. Bucky pulled him close, so that his golden head was tucked under Bucky's chin, and rubbed his back roughly, trying to force some warmth back into Steve's body. 

The sun rose and the mercury dropped some more. Bucky slipped out of bed, checking that Steve was still asleep, and wrapped himself in his coat. He jammed his feet into his boots and pulled the curtains shut. They'd put a rolled-up towel along the bottom of the sash to keep drafts out, but it didn't seem to do much good. 

"Right back," he said, bending to drop a kiss on Steve's head. Steve's deep breathing didn't change. 

*

"Look what I found," Bucky said. He dropped the boxset on top of Steve's crossword puzzle, beaming. Steve grinned when he saw the title on the front of the set. 

"Movie night?" he said. "That brings back some memories." 

"Never got to see _The Barkleys of Broadway_ ," Bucky said. 

"Me either," Steve replied. "But we should start with _Swing Time_."

" _Follow the Fleet,_ " Bucky countered. 

"Or both," Steve said. "We can watch more than one, you know. Tony made me do a _Star Wars_ marathon. It was kind of fun." 

Bucky tapped his metal fingers on the table, eyes bright. 

"It's a date," he said. 

Just like the old days. Well, not quite. 

Better, maybe. 

*

When he knocked on the door across the hall, too cold and worried to be embarrassed about asking for help, Ms. Maguire answered it. She was a big woman, in her middle years, and he had never seen her in anything but boots and trousers, even in the summer. Her hair, usually in a severe knot at the nape of her neck, was hanging loose. It made her look a little more feminine. 

"Can I help you?" she asked. A fire was roaring in her hearth. 

"I'm sorry," Bucky said, "We- I ran out of firewood and my- my friend Steve doesn't do so well in the cold. I was wondering if I could have a loan of some wood? Just to get us through today. I can pay."

Mrs. Yabsley, ten years a widow and utterly immune to Bucky's charms, peered over the back of the couch, which was close to the fire. 

"Cynthia," she said, "Give the poor boy the space heater."

Ms. Maguire opened the door a little further, inviting him in. 

"I've seen your boy," she said. "Looks like a strong wind could blow him away." 

Bucky bit his lip. 

"That's what I'm afraid of," he said. Ms. Maguire and Mrs. Yabsley traded a look, and blood rushed to his cheeks. The sternness in Ms. Maguire's face melted into gentleness, and she handed him the blue kerosene heater that had been standing in the hall. 

"Take care of yourselves," she said. 

"We do," Bucky replied, clutching the heater close. 

"Take some tea," Mrs. Yabsley added, from her perch on the couch. Ms. Maguire rooted through their cabinets until she came up with a jar of loose-leafed tea. 

"Wait," she said. She disappeared into another room, leaving Bucky laden with the heater and the tea, and came back with a bundle of firewood. 

"Can't make tea without heat," she said. "Be careful of that kerosene." The wood was added to Bucky's precarious load. 

"Thank you," he said, "I'll find a way to pay you back. Anything you need." 

They shared a secretive little smile, one that somehow seemed to include him and Steve, tucked away in bed across the hall. 

"Don't worry," Ms. Maguire said. "Neighbors look out for each other. Now go take care of your friend." 

*

"You remember that night we saw _Follow the Fleet_?" Steve asked. He was slouched against the pillows, hair tousled, light from the television flickering across his face. 

"That was a good night," Bucky said. "I think it was more fun in the theater." 

"But it was freezing afterwards," Steve said. 

"I remember _that_ ," Bucky said. He slipped his flesh-and-blood hand into Steve's, enjoying the thrill that raced through him. They could do this now. They hadn't been able to do it back then, not even in the dark of the theater. 

But here, in Steve's (their) apartment, they could do anything they damn well pleased. 

When he glanced over, Steve was asleep. He still curled up in a ball, even here in his king-sized bed, with state-of-the-art heating and Bucky to keep him company. 

It was nice. It was familiar. Bucky eased the duvet from under Steve's sleeping form with the ease of long practice, and tucked them both in. 

Fred and Ginger danced the Continental on the widescreen above the bed, and he watched them for a few moments before he reached for the remote and plunged the room into darkness. 

*

The first time he and Steve had fucked had been after they moved into their own shitty little apartment. Steve had gotten into another fight, and his face was purple with bruises. He winced every time he moved, trying to find a way to sleep that didn't hurt.

Bucky put up with it for two hours before he wrapped his arms around Steve's thin frame to make him stay still. Steve gritted his teeth and let out a long, hissing breath.

"Where _doesn't_ it hurt?" Bucky asked. He let his mouth drift along the edge of Steve's jaw, gently. They hadn't done more than kiss, before moving into their own place. Neither of them had worked up the nerve to take advantage of the privacy, yet. 

"I'm fine," Steve muttered. "Just go to sleep." 

"Can't," Bucky groused. He pressed a hand to the concave dip of Steve's stomach. Steve froze, and then made a small pleased sound. Bucky let his hand drift lower, and Steve shifted to accommodate his wandering fingers. 

The feeling of Steve Rogers shaking through an orgasm in his arms, he decided later, was the best thing in the world. It left him hard and wanting afterwards, when Steve slipped into a satisfied, post-orgasmic sleep, but the blissful look on Steve's sleeping face was more than worth it. 

He looked after his boy. 

*

Bucky liked Steve in the mornings, when he was soft and pliant and sleepy. 

"Steve," he said, pressing a kiss into Steve's neck. Steve's head lolled back on his pillow. 

"Mmnrsbg," Steve said. He usually woke up before dawn to work out, but today he was still dozing. Bucky nipped at his jaw and leaned in for a kiss. 

"Mmmmmm-" Steve said, agreeably. He twined an arm around Bucky's shoulders, bare skin against skin, and let his knees fall open. His cock was soft between his legs, but he started to show interest as Bucky pressed kisses to his chest. 

"Let me-" Bucky rolled Steve onto his side, metal arm clicking. Steve buried his face in the pillow. Another old habit. Before the war it had made him look breathtakingly vulnerable, which aroused Bucky more than it probably should have. Now it was just endearing. 

He nipped the back of Steve's neck while he worked him open with lube-slicked fingers, eliciting a full-body wriggle.

"Come on," Steve moaned. He sounded a little more awake. 

"So needy," Bucky huffed. Parts of his old life were still a blank in his mind, but this- taking care of Steve was like nothing had ever changed. He pushed into Steve slowly, letting him adjust, and reveled in every small sound he could wring from him. 

"M'not gonna break," Steve said. Another familiar complaint.

Bucky grinned against his neck and rolled onto his back, pulling Steve with him. 

"Knock yourself out," he said, planting his metal hand on the mattress. Steve braced himself on his knees, hands resting on top of Bucky's, and started riding him. Bucky dropped his head against Steve's bare back, feeling his muscles flexing with effort, and let the old familiar pleasure wash over him. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Steve said. He moved more quickly, hips pumping as he slid down further, and his shoulders hunched up in pleasure. Bucky groaned. 

" _Fuck!_ " Tony Stark said, from the screen on the wall. "Jesus Christ!" 

Bucky had a glimpse of Tony's horrified face before the television exploded in a shower of sparks and plastic. 

Steve, panting heavily, blinked at the remote that was embedded in the wall. There was a smoking hole in the middle of what had been their new television. 

"Oops," he said. 

*

They made it through the coldest week of the year, huddled together under a pile of blankets and coats, with the fire stoked high and Ms. Maguire's kerosene heater on Steve's side of the bed. Steve sweated and shivered and bitched, but he didn't catch a fever or start wheezing. Bucky had seen pneumonia set in before, and he refused to let Steve's own lungs be the death of him. 

So he fed the fire and coaxed Steve into drinking hot tea and eating warm food, when he could bear to get out of bed and make it. He rubbed Steve's shaking limbs and forced a woolen hat onto his head. 

They made it.

They made it through that winter and the next, and the one after that. 

In 2014, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's sleeping body and listened to the blood thrumming under his skin. He hadn't been able to save Steve, in the end, from being frozen alive. But they had come through it all right. 

*

"We've got you booked on the Daily Show after your press conference," Pepper said. She was holding a stack of papers that Bucky sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to read. 

"Stewart knows that you're pushing the civil rights angle, so he's going to want to talk about that," she said. "And he's probably going to want to talk about the historical context of gay rights, too. I wasn't sure how up on your history you were, so-" the stack of papers thumped down on the table in front of them. 

In six hours they would be live on the Daily Show. In two hours they would be facing a pack of reporters. Bucky flexed his hand, listening to the nearly-silent whirr of gears under his synthetic skin. Steve noticed and reached out to hold his hand. 

"Bucky," he said. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

Bucky clasped Steve's fingers and smiled. 

"You've always been the brave one," he said. "I'm just along for the ride." 

"You're sure?" Steve asked again. He had that gleam in his eyes that always meant trouble. Bucky felt his smile turn into something more genuine. He would jump off a cliff if Steve was leading him. Hell, he already had, in a way.

"I'm with you til the end of the line," Bucky said. "Let's get 'em."


End file.
